«7 That from catafalques and from cribs / You, ripping away the cover, / You that fan the winds / And snowstorms send over, Sending fevers, poems and wars — / Serf-keeper! Black magician! — / I have heard the menacing roar / Of lions, of the chariot preaching. I hear voices in pass...»
«8 People shouted on the street, / Smoke flew from the bakery place. / I remembered the ruby mouth / Of a street singer with narrow face. In the dark kerchief with flowers — / Honored by your civility / You were drowned in the crowd / Of praying ones at Sergei-Trinity, Pray for me, ...»
«9 To the golden-lipped Anne — to a word / That all of Russia redeems! / Carry away my voice / And my heavy sigh, wind. About quiet bow of the earth among / Golden fields, O the burning skies, / Tell the story; and also about / From the agony blackened eyes. You attained once again ...»
«10 At the thin wire over oats' wave / Like thousand voices — is the voice today! And - holy, holy, holy — tabors passing by / Speak with the same voice, O the holy, I stand and I listen and I rub the corn ear, / And voice locks me up with a dark cupola. * * * Not the swimming willows...»